


a whiter shade of pale

by allsovacant



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Vampires, John is Hooman, M/M, Seduction, Twitter Prompt, Vamp!lock, Vampire Sherlock, inspired by a tweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-29 18:22:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20206123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Doctor Watson arrived in the ghost village-like town of Monett, hoping to finally start his career. Wet from the heavy downpour of rain, he was all ready to settle down. Nothing much unusual, just the owner of the place he would stay in.—A ficlet inspired by a passing tweet involving a wet shirt and a vampire.Unbeta'ed for the love of mistakes.





	a whiter shade of pale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabemu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabemu/gifts).

> The title came from the Procul Harum song, "A Whiter Shade of Pale". One of the most iconic songs from the year of 1967. If you're an old soul at heart, give it a listen. :)

"Bloody hell," John muttered as he inspected himself.

Wet from the heavy downpour of rain, he finally had set foot on the unfamiliar village where he was supposed to start his new job as a resident doctor. If not for the good hearted man who's also the head of medicine studies in his former university, no one would believe that John would accept Doctor Helsinki's recommendation to be the healer to an almost ghost village in Pennsylvania—the Village of Monett.

With a population of 2 220, the villagers survive by planting vegetables, fishing, hunting, and raising livestocks. And even if the forecast for heavy rains already lasted a month, the people still coped with the weather, at least the adults. But the number of children getting sick with respiratory illness are climbing, which was why, him, Doctor John Watson, a recent graduate of medicine, found himself standing among the villagers doing their evening routines and who will be under his care as long as he's needed.

John brushed a hand over his wet hair before looking down again at the small piece of paper on his hand. His colleague Molly wrote the directions on how to get to his new home. The North Gower Castle, once a fortress of Kings, was long abandoned since the medieval ages but now well maintained by the chief authority of the village. Molly's aunt who was the one in-charge of its garden, approved his request of renting a small cabin at the back of the castlegrounds. He was more than grateful to Molly and her aunt.

He squinted his eyes from the rain as he read the fine calligraphy of letters. "Turn left at 221 road, walk further passing the wooden bridge of Baker Street, and you will find the North Gower Castle—"

He flipped the paper to read the other side and laughed. There, Molly wrote in big blocks of letter, "Beware of vampires, John."

"Vampires? Who else believes in vampires?" He said out loud.

Shaking his head with a fond smile in his face, he adjusted his belongings in his leather bag while hiding the piece of paper to one of its pockets.

It was then, like a moment when time stilled, John became aware of someone staring at him. The hair on his nape all stood but for some unexplainable reason, he felt no threat but curiosity from the stare, though he did not dare look around yet. When he decided though, the feeling vanished. John then turned to his left in the hopes of finding the culprit but found no one. He turned to his right, there's only the baker and some villager conversing about the heavy rains in a whisper but loud enough for him to hear. He then looked behind but found no one.

He sighed. Whoever it was, probably a cat? A dog? or a villager curious enough about him to stare because he was new. Deep inside John wished it was a tall green eyed brunette. That thought made him grin.

"Excuse me, young man?"

An anxious voice which came from behind startled him. He then turned to find a black umbrella owned by an old woman in a violet dress, adorned with a flowery apron, that doesn't seem like an apron at all.

"Good evening, Madam. How may I help you?" John answered with a practised smile.

The old woman returned his smile kindly.

"I thought I would be the one to help you. I was just going to confirm if you are Doctor Watson? Molly's colleague?" The old woman asked confidently, still smiling.

John beamed a genuine smile this time.

"Yes, Madam. I am John Hamish Watson. A recent graduate of medicine, trained by one of the greatest doctors of this lifetime and will set up my very first practise here as the village's resident physician. I came from London." He said proudly.

"Oh, wonderful! I am Martha Hudson, Molly's aunt, you're the one I exchanged letters I believe!" The old woman lost her anxiousness and clapped cheerfully.

"Come! We should be heading our way now. We wouldn't want to be around walking at night."

"Oh, alright. Of course. Of course."

Together, they continued walking until they reached of what seemed to be the end of the village and off to 221 road. John assisted Mrs. Hudson in their walk and they crossed the bridge leading to the castle.

John noticed Madame Hudson's shortened relief as they reached the huge gates. And the reason for it was seriously unexpected for him.

"Oh my! The riding crop at the morgue! I forgot the riding crop! Oh, Sherlock will definitely—"

Sher—who?

"Sorry, Madam Hudson—a riding crop?"

"Hmm? What is it? Are you saying something?" Madam Hudson blinked rapidly as if she just dropped a forbidden secret.

Oh, great, Johnny.

"I said I forget something. I'll just look for it and you go ahead first. Go on, go on, off you go."

Madame Hudson almost pushed him inside the gate, leaving him there. Then she went with his belongings back around the castle to where his cabin was supposed to be.

Curiosity gets ahead of him as he moved to follow Madame Hudson's footsteps when a movement at the corner of his eye stopped him at the same time he heard this sound of huge twin wooden doors opening with that thriller film-worthy creaking sound.

And there in the evening, moonlight shone in the garden making it look like something out of a fairy tale book. The smell of fresh grass being kissed by the evening rain reached his nose. He breathed in and out, closing his eyes, as calmness enveloped him.

After a little while, John was once again startled by a voice.

"Hmm... What do we have here?" The voice asked, almost purring that made him gasp softly. The deep baritone voice made his eyes open and John squinted his eyes to look for its owner.

Eventually, his gaze were drawn towards the huge doors. But what made him rooted to the spot was the figure hidden in the shadows that seem to now regard him with unabashed interest. How would he know? He just know. He's feeling that same familiar sensation earlier when he was being watched by the road. That he couldn't be mistaken. Narrowing his eyes, finally, John caught sight of the figure in between the doors. It was pale skinned, at least John can make that out, one pale sinewy hand holding one part of the door open as the other hand holds a candle lamp. It was odd that the candle's light never reaches the figure's face.

Just then, the figure stepped forward and in an instinct, he took a step back. As the figure continued to step forward out of the shadows, John almost choked against his tongue.

At first he thought it was an ordinary man—Tall, pale skinned, in a white long ruffled sleeve shirt—he's like from those—John swallowed as he prevented himself from saying the word. But his mind went on its own bold observation—wearing dark jeans, a mess of—Oh, God—he felt his length twitched inside his own jeans—a mess of raven curls, seductive... pinkish lips—definitely because of the cold weather. Good Lord, not now.

The moment John thought of the word 'cold', he felt it through his bones. His stomach clenched and his body let out a shiver it made him grit his teeth, bit his tongue, and close his eyes. The taste of his own blood fresh inside his mouth.

It was only then that John felt someone was already in front of him. He dared to open his eyes locking his gaze to the man standing in front of him, still holding the candle lamp.

"Oh you poor thing, look at you—"

John's breathing hitched while his gaze follows the lithe fingers of the man tracing his chest against his wet shirt. His knees buckled as the said fingers unbuttoned his wet shirt. When the cold palm of the man comes in contact with the warmth of his skin he shivered once again.

The man then leaned down by his ear, teeth grazing his earlobe and whispered, "Let's get you warmed up."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> Edit: Somebody nailed the "As if they know me" attitude towards the comment down there. I deleted it. I'm not asking for THOROUGH CRITICISM REVIEW. Just a simple "comment", good Lord. English isn't my first language, so please be gentle. 
> 
> More notes: I honestly feel like I don't know how to write anymore. And yes, I am depressed about it. I could no longer conjure ideas like I did before... So I'm really sorry to my dearest subscribers who have subscribed for my messed up writings, I've disappointed you all. I hope one day, you can forgive me.
> 
> Love, Leev.


End file.
